


This Is Not A Date

by babybluecas



Series: Valentine's Fluff [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Date, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybluecas/pseuds/babybluecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just two best friends having a dinner out. On Valentine’s Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Date

“It’s not a date,” Dean mutters to his reflection in the mirror.

He runs wet fingers through his hair to swipe it to the side and takes a moment to inspect his look. He’s already given up on the idea of shaving, it seemed just a little too close to grooming and, well, he’s not going on a _date_. Just a casual dinner with his best friend. A friend that he might be just a wee bit into. Which still doesn’t make it a-

“Dude, you’ve been in there for an hour!” Sam yells, banging on the door.

“Alright, alright, just a second!” he calls back, shaking his head. There’s no use in arguing that he definitely has not spent an hour in the bathroom. Half an hour at best, and that’s including the shower and dressing. What’s the big deal?

“I don’t care but Cas is waiting for you.” With that, Sam’s footstep walk away, followed by the squeak of opening and shutting the motel door.

Dean leans over the sink, one palm gripping the edge, the other wandering to his hair, messing it a bit. Up and spiky it is, he decides, and straightens up, smooths the creases on his shirt. Black, instead of his usual plaid, and jeans whole instead of holey should be enough on the side of nice for a dinner for two.

On Valentine’s Day.

Which is, of course, one more reason as to why this isn’t a date - the tackiness of it, the silliness of falling for this commercial holiday. Does anyone past high school ever go on dates on Valentine’s Day? Well, surely not Dean.

“I’ll grab the keys and we can get going,” he announces as he enters the room.

He stops in his tracks as his eyes land on Cas. The good news is Cas hardly seems to mind the waiting, or at least he’s hiding it well. The bad news is, Dean might be just a bit underdressed compared to his not-date.

Too _smart_ for Dean’s _casual_ , Cas went for a beige sweater vest under a dark blue jacket and that light blue shirt that makes his eyes even bluer than they are. Thankfully, he had enough decency to let go of a tie and a pocket square or whatever else he could use to make Dean go change. The tight jeans, however, the ones he grew to love so much, might just cause Dean some problems sometime later today.

How Cas acquired such a fancy, un-hunterlike taste in clothes is a mystery. And so it is where he got all those clothes from. Be it a secret online shopping addiction or a hidden, old wardrobe with a magical passage to Pierre Cardin, Dean’s as grateful for it as he is pissed. Cas looks just. So. Good.

Fuck.

“You look nice,” Cas says, without a note of sarcasm that Dean frankly deserves.

Dean licks his lips that have suddenly gone dry. “Right back atcha.”

Cas’s face brightens as he nods in a thank you. They stand there, stealing glances at each other for a longer moment, until the scene becomes awkward and Dean saves them both, reaching for the keys on the nightstand.

“Let’s go.” He gestures to the door and grabs their jackets from the hanger on his way.

They walk out into the yellow circles of the streetlamps on the parking lot, pass its length in silence until they reach the Impala.

“Can I drive?” Cas smiles at him widely.

Dean snorts. “F’course not.”

Cas’s smile doesn’t falter as he climbs into the passenger seat. His leg jumps up and down in an uncharacteristic tick all the way downtown.

 

The place is freaking crowded, of course, Dean didn’t expect anything less on this cheesy holiday. Turns out not only teenagers do that dating on Valentine’s Day thing. At every table there’s a couple gazing into each other’s eyes over the romantic glow of candles and the view makes something in Dean’s stomach turn.

He did not expect the place to be some dirty, little diner, sure, but a full-blown red hearts and roses and baby cherubs with their golden arrows pinned to the arches is too much for him and his mantra of _not a date_. And there are fucking violins playing in the background, making Dean want to drag Cas out and make him explain what the hell he was thinking.

But he bites down the urge to escape and limits himself to sending Cas a questioning look. Cas’s face, as red as the excess of decorations, says a lot, mostly that he had no idea the place would be so over the top. Or, at least, that’s what Dean hopes Cas’s embarrassment means, but he’ll roll with it for the sake of a nice evening.

They walk up to the entryway where the hostess greets them with a smile. She’s young, a college girl, probably, with dark skin and curly hair. Here name tag says _Lara_.

“Welcome to Cameral,” she cheers, hovering the pen over the guest list before her, ready to search for their names. “Reservation for…?”

Reservation, obviously. Here’s Dean’s saving grace. You can’t just walk into a restaurant on the busiest night of year and expect it to hold you a spot. And there’s no way Cas though about res-

“Winchester.” Dean’s last name in Cas’s lips startles him and he looks up to the man with wide eyes. “A table for two.” The man adds with a polite smile as if deliberately trying to weird him out.

“Alright.” Lara smiles back and turns to the list. She makes passes over three pages in her register, tucks a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. “At what time?”

There’s something wrong and judging by the color draining from Cas’s face, he knows it too.

“Eight thirty,” he says slowly, but surely, pulling out his phone from a pocket to, irrationally, make sure he didn’t confuse the time and they didn’t come a few hours too late. It says eight thirty three. “Now.”

She nods and takes another shot at the list, turns back a page, checks name after name. She furrows her brow and Cas’s first curls around the hem of his jacket.

“Winchester?” she utters the name carefully like she might have misheard it and been looking for the wrong thing all along.

“Yes. Like the rifle,” Dean says, before Cas can open his mouth.

One more second of uncertainty and Cas’s lower lip might crack under the pressure from his own teeth. Dean reaches out to calm him, wraps his palm around Cas’s wrist, thumb racing on his skin.

“I’m sorry, you’re not here,” she announces, eventually, with a sympathetic look. “Are you sure the reservation was for today? Or maybe you used a different name?”

All air seems to escape Cas.

“No, I- I used this name, Winchester.” He lifts his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, doesn’t dare to move the one in Dean’s grasp. “I called yesterday and you said there was one table left, at eight thirty, today, fourteenth, and you said we’re all set.” He’s visibly struggling to keep his composure, but Dean’s not sure it’s anger that’s gathering behind his eyelids when he shuts them.

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean says in attempt to defuse the situation. “It must be some misunderstanding.”

“I booked it,” Cas insists, but there’s hardly any force left in his voice.

“I can only assume it was an error in our system,” Lara explains. “And you got a reservation for a table that was already booked. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, just our luck.” Dean shrugs, as Cas starts walking away with his head hung low and hardly a goodbye, dragging his feet towards the exit.

Poor sob looks miserable and it’s a pretty tragic change from all the grins and nervous excitement that emitted from him ever since Dean agreed to the dinner. He should have realized sooner how important this was to Cas. But he was too preoccupied with his own worries and debating on the date-not-date front.

“Hey, uh, Lara,” Dean starts, leaning in closer to the girl, once Cas is out of the hearing range. “See, it’s our first Valentine’s together. You know how it is, my boyfriend there tried to be super romantic. He’s gonna be so devastated about it, just look at him. Isn’t there anything, like a tiny table somewhere, for an hour maybe?”

He doesn’t hold much hope. There’s only so much his not-so-youthful charm can do. Still, it never hurts to try.

Lara throws a glance at Cas, who stopped to wait for Dean to join him. “I really wish I could help.” She sighs and Dean can tell she couldn’t be more honest about it. It’s kind of assholish of him in fact, to be putting her in this position. Especially since he personally doesn’t even want to be here. And yet he finds himself caring so much. “You look like such a sweet couple. But there’s nothing I can do. We’re full and completely booked. It’s Valentine’s and there aren’t that many restaurants in the town. But maybe you’ll find something closer to the outskirts?”

Dean nods and sends the girl a reassuring smile. “Oh well, what can you do. I’ll just buy him huge ice cream or something, so he doesn’t sulk.”

Finally, Lara smiles, too, and Dean can safely walk away now.

“Wait,” she calls and turns around for a second. She turns back with a red rose with a short stalk that she holds out to him.

At Dean’s questioning look, she tips the rose in the direction of Cas who is now inspecting the definitely not cherub-like ornaments on the nearby candelabra.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Goodnight. And sorry once again.”

Dean can’t say he regrets the whole situation being a fiasco, the sooner they leave the choking surroundings the better.

“Come on, babe,” he says to Cas, hardly keeping a straight face. He wraps his arm around Cas’s shoulders and leads him to the door. Cas’s eyes pop out at the sight of the rose and this role reversal feels pretty great. “Let’s go grab that dinner.”

 

A diner it is, in the end. Walking around the town in search of a free table seemed unfruitful and frustrating. A total waste of a salvageable evening. This place was but a few steps away from their last spot and Dean didn’t even need to negotiate it with Cas. The guy didn’t seem to care anymore.

The place is not bad at all, cozy and clean, the best kind of place to land in between hunts. And for Dean it’s good enough for a not-date. It’s hardly occupied; the only people seem to be a bunch of regular patrons and a few lonely souls that didn’t fit into festive celebrations. They even dimmed the lights, exchanging the regular, sterile white for warm yellow of wall sconces.

The booths allow some privacy, probably much more than those small, round tables one next to another. And what’s most important, there are no tacky decorations and instead of the sound of violins there’s a quiet buzz of country station in and out of tune.

“Hi.” Dean smiles to the waitress solving a crossword behind the counter. He takes a glance at the menu hanging on the wall but gives up halfway through. “I’ll have a burger with fries, and-” he pauses, then shrugs, “and a beer, whatever you have. Cas?” He turns to the man, who’s more interested in the flower in his hand than in the order. “Make it two burgers with fries,” he decides for him, “and tea.”

The woman writes down the order, forcing a smile, and disappears in the kitchen.

“That one looks good to you?” Dean points to the booth the furthest from other patrons.

“As good as any.” Cas shrugs, hands Dean his jacket to hang and takes his place.

They sit quietly for a while, Dean spread out comfortably on the soft seat upholstered with fake leather, Cas glancing around with mouth shaped into a near-perfect upturned U. They should have gone for that giant portion of ice cream right away, maybe that would somehow cheer Cas up. If the guy doesn’t chill on that kill to Dean’s buzz, they might not stay long enough for the dessert.

“I think I’d rather have you pissed than moping around,” Dean says, kicking the tips of Cas’s shoes under the table.

“I’m not moping around. I’m just…” he trails off and gestures vaguely all around the diner.

“Come on, Cas. I know this wasn’t the plan, but you’re overthinking this. Did you see that place? Overzealous, that’s what it was.”

“A little,” Cas agrees. “But-”

“Cas,” he cuts him off, raises his eyebrows. “The naked-baby cupids?”

That finally earns him a chuckle. They do share a history of cupid encounters, both of them in hardly happy circumstances. Still, much better in retrospect.

In fact, everything they’ve faced seems better from where they’re sitting now. On a Valentine’s not-date, together, after all the shit they’ve been through. Cas can sulk all he wants, Dean couldn’t stop smiling at him if he wanted to.

“Very inaccurate,” Cas decides, playing with the petals of the rose he never put down. “However, it’s not uncommon for human cultures to wrongly visualize-”

“Super inaccurate,” Dean chimes in, before Cas can go off on a long rant. The movements of Cas’s fingers are mesmerizing, the softness with which he handles the delicate flower, the absentmindedness of the act. “And this thing could use some water.”

He gets up to ask for some water for the flower and comes back a few minutes later with the full order on a tray, and a few extras.

“Alright, you wanted fancy,” he puts the tray down, “you’ll have fancy.”

He takes care of the flower first, putting it into a glass vase and placing it between them. On both its sides he sets small candles the waitress gave them for being a cute couple - Dean’s trying hard to ignore the fact they were called that twice this evening. He lets Cas lit them, as he sets the plates and puts the tray away.

It’s a caricature of fancy, but it’s enough. It’s more Dean’s style anyway; burger and beer always trumps, well, everything. Except pie. Actually, he should take a little offence in the fact that Cas would ever assume he’d want anything other than this.

“Really, man, it’s like you don’t even know me,” he ends the rant and stuffs a bunch of fries into his mouth.

Cas leans in, face entering the ring of candlelight. The orange glow dances on his face, sharpening his features, and the shade turns his irises near black. It should look wrong, the lack of that blue, but instead it makes Dean lick his lips and swallow hard.

“It’s not that at all, Dean,” he explains. “I know you like this and feel more comfortable. It’s just that this you have everyday. I wanted us to do something different.”

“Yeah, I know.” He washes down his throat with cool beer. “It sucks that your plan fell through, since you already called them and all. Just,” he leans closer, wiping the grease and salt off his fingers into a napkin, “tell me one thing. Winchester? Really? Did you make up a story to go with it? What, were we like, married in it, or something?”

Cas’s eyebrows rise to his hairline and the corner of his lips curls up. Before he even opens his mouth, Dean realizes he’s just made an idiot of himself.

“No, uh, I just panicked when they asked for my last name,” Cas explains. “You might have not noticed, but I don’t have one,” he adds, smugly.

“Right.” Dean hides his face behind the bottle, from Cas’s amused stare. A change of topic is his best option here. “But hey, bright side, we’ve got what we came for, right?” he cheers. “Two friends, grabbing a dinner together, wasn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah,” is all Cas says to that, setting his empty plate aside and sipping the rest of his tea.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that comes as Cas’s smile fades. Dean’s teasing grin disappears as well, but the softness remains in his eyes. He watches Cas carefully, his focus once again returned to the rose.

Dean takes in a slow breath, wishing he still had some beer to drown the dryness in his mouth. He steadies himself at the very point of no return and for a second he’s afraid he’ll turn around and run while he still can, like he always has. But he doesn’t.

“That just happened to be on Valentine’s Day?”

Cas’s fingers on the petals stop mid-movement, his whole body seems to freeze. It’s just a few words that sound so innocent and couldn’t be farther from it. They spell the thing they both have been thinking while playing dumb all along, stubbornly avoiding the topic like fire consuming their sleeves.

Cas’s voice trembles, as he asks under his breath, “That obvious, wasn’t I?”

“You could be more subtle,” Dean agrees. It feels like walking on thin ice, foul step threatening with a crash and fall. And yet, somehow that fall doesn’t seem so scary, like there’s someone down there to catch him.

“So you knew and still-” There’s no disbelief in Cas’s voice, he just needs to make sure.

Instead of words, Dean conveys the answer with his whole body, a shrug of his shoulders, the tip of his head, his face. _Duh_.

There’s silence again, tense in anticipation of the next move. They fill it with stolen glances.

Cas’s lips start moving before he makes a sound, then the sound keeps on coming out faster than his mind makes up words.

“I wasn’t- didn’t- if it was good, the idea.” Cas palm lands awkwardly at the back of his neck, his face burns red in the candle light. If you’d- If we, you’d want-”

“Sentences, Cas,” Dean says, a bit too sharp. “Talk to me in sentences,” he adds sweeter.

Cas looks him in the eyes, takes a deep breath. It’s still not a sentence that comes out but it says everything Dean needs to know.

“Us.”

Dean huffs out a soft laugh, a sigh of relief, really. It’s like a stop at the end of a long ride, like the first breath above the surface.

“Yeah.” He nods, breaking into a smile.

His palm reaches to Cas’s still fixed on the flower. Their fingers touch, intertwine, and it feels so natural.

Dean has no idea what comes after that, but he’s eager to find out. What he does now it that this not-date thing is definitely a _date_ thing. First date, at that.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks, popping up out of nowhere.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean shoots backwards on instinct and sends Cas and apologetic look. “How about an apple pie with ice cream? Huh, Cas, you still got some room there?” Cas nods. “Make it a double. Twice.”

“Two apple pies with double ice cream?” she makes sure she got Dean’s messy order right.

“Yup, and a beer, please.”

“Two beers,” Cas throws in, but Dean shakes his head.

“One beer and one, uh, cola. Thanks.”

Cas is still piercing Dean with his offended look when the waitress walks away.

“Hey, you prefer juice, you should have asked for juice,” he shrugs, and pulls a bunch of keys from his pocket. “I wouldn’t mind walking, but I’m not leaving Baby here,” he explains, sliding the keys towards Cas.

“You want me to drive the Impala?” Cas asks surprised, grasping the keys quickly in case Dean was to change his mind.

“No driving after drinking,” he shrugs again.

Cas’s wide grin is definitely worth risking Baby’s wellbeing. It’s almost as if that news moved Cas more than their _us._ Almost.

“And, uh, if it’s so important to you, we’ll go on a cheesy date in a proper restaurant,” Dean promises, honestly hoping Cas will not take him up on it. “We don’t need Valentine’s for that. Wine, shrimps and eating off each other’s forks,” he jokes and Cas beams. What the hell has he just gotten himself into. “But you’re definitely losing your Netflix privileges.”


End file.
